


I Shan't (Can't) Say I'm In Love

by AppleSharon



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Romance, seriously so much fluff, sexual content (mentioned but not explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 15:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20137774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSharon/pseuds/AppleSharon
Summary: Crowley can't say he's in love. At least, not with words. Aziraphale reassures him that he's been saying it, rather loudly, for millennia.Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme.





	I Shan't (Can't) Say I'm In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Another kink meme prompt fill while I'm working on finishing "A Solitary Sequel."
> 
> This is the original prompt: 
> 
> Demons can love, but for some demon-y reason can't actually say the words 'I love you'. Crowley has been saying them in different ways for millennia, mostly through his actions, but now that he and Aziraphale are finally together it weighs on him, because he dearly wishes he could, and he thinks Aziraphale deserves to hear it. For his own part Aziraphale is 100% aware and OK with this. He reassures Crowley and tells him there are so many other ways to say those words, and he's looking forward to hearing them all. And Crowley does just that.

It is wholly untrue that demons are unable to love. 

Cast from Heaven’s light during the initial Fall, they were removed from the circle of angels and protection of Her love. Naturally, this left a remarkably-sized figurative hole in their similarly figurative hearts — an empty place that should have been filled with divine love along with a natural love for anything and everything that was all-too-often associated with, but not required of, an angel’s existence.

Perhaps this is why humanity presumed that demons are unable to love, not comprehending the difference between the aching, desolate feeling of being irrevocably alone without Her grace, and the inability to love at all. Of course, most demons didn’t go around loving things frequently. The inherent distrust, anger, even Wrath, that came from having been tossed unceremoniously out of Heaven following the uprising saw to it that few demons considered love as anything worth their time. 

There was, however, a catch when it came to demonic love. Demons were free to love whatever and whomever they wanted, truly — if Lust happened to come alongside these feelings all the better — but were forbidden from speaking such feelings openly. They couldn’t speak it, write it, or use words to express how they felt. 

This too, is likely another reason why humans simply assumed that demons couldn’t feel this particular emotion at all. If that seems terribly unfair to the demons, well, it was, but most of them were too preoccupied with other demonic pursuits for this particular rule to affect them whatsoever. 

As a related aside, it’s a little-known fact that the aforementioned, all-encompassing love of an angel is also a human misconception. This one was due to the particular angel selected to stand at the side of humanity, a former Principality of The Garden, who had a love for everything that came effortlessly.

Regardless of these particular misconceptions’ origins, the truth of it all was twofold:

Demons could, like any other being in existence, love.

They could not speak, write, or otherwise communicate the specific words “I love you.”

Seeing as demons are, in fact, able to love, it stands to reason that one particular demon — Anthony J. Crowley, formerly known as Crawley/Crawly, the Serpent of Eden — was also able to love. 

And did he ever love. 

Crowley’s love of Aziraphale — not-so-coincidentally the aforementioned Principality who set the tone for how angels were viewed by humans — was simultaneously greater than anything a human could conceive of and also unvoiced, even after 6,000 years. 

This hadn’t mattered as much when the likes of Heaven and Hell had been watching. Well aware that any admission of love on his part would not only be spurned by the angel but also punished severely by either side, it had been easier for Crowley to remain silent. His actions spoke volumes, and assuaged the rather claustrophobic feeling of being unable to say anything about it. 

Crowley had been significantly more afraid of anything that Heaven could do to Aziraphale. Had it solely been his own corporation and well-being that he had to consider, he may have attempted to push his boundaries earlier than after An Apocalypse That Didn’t Actually Happen. As it was, he pushed this boundary just once before it.

And it was in that particular attempt that Crowley learned that he couldn’t say the words, “I love you,” regardless of how much he felt them. Crowley had been informed as such directly from Beelzebub in a conversation completely unrelated to Aziraphale, although it had been adjacent enough to Crowley’s activities on earth during one of his reports that Crowley had been paranoid for years that they had somehow discovered his true feelings. 

Naturally, Crowley actually hadn’t believed Beelzebub — predisposed to question all things as he was — and centuries later, in a moment of intoxicated weakness, had made an attempt to whisper the words into Aziraphale’s ear while the angel was similarly indisposed due to drink. 

Crowley had choked on the words, sputtering in a guttural human way that had concerned Aziraphale so much that the angel had sobered up immediately. 

“Crowley! Whatever is the— Are you quite—“

Aziraphale had fluttered his hands awkwardly in the air before placing a hand on Crowley’s back. It had felt impossibly warm through his clothes and Crowley had fortunately been spared from having to explain why he had leaned into the angel’s touch by continuing to cough. 

“M’fine, angel just—“

And that had been the end of that. Crowley hadn’t made an attempt since.

***

Based on appearances alone, Aziraphale seemed like the type who would hate spending any time at the beach.

The human phrase that appearances could be deceiving popped into Crowley’s head and then immediately left it as he watched Aziraphale emerge from the public changing facility with a striped bathing costume that was approximately a century out of date. 

“Don’t you start, my dear,” Aziraphale said with an aristocratic sniff. “After all, you haven’t even changed into anything appropriate.”

Crowley was sporting his typical black attire and standing out quite a bit by contrast in a wholly different way than his angelic compatriot. 

“Oh angel, I would never mock your impeccable fashion taste.” 

Crowley didn’t particularly want to stop looking at Aziraphale, despite his teasing, and as the two settled down 

“Really, we could have just stayed in the bookshop,” Crowley began, sarcastically gesturing at the luxury towel that Aziraphale had brought along with a pile of books — no first editions, of course — a large charcuterie spread, and a giant umbrella that looked more like the patio awning of a mansion. 

Aziraphale sniffed.

“And miss this view?”

One of Crowley’s greatest strengths, in his own opinion, was his ability to deflect his true feelings with humour, sarcasm, or feigned anger. He had less of a use for these talents following the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and had begun to default to humour, as he was still generally uncomfortable being verbally straightforward. In a situation like this, where Aziraphale had set him up so beautifully, Crowley couldn’t resist.

“It’s a gorgeous view.” 

Crowley quirked an eyebrow as he said this, raking his eyes over Aziraphale in a bathing costume. The angel was fair, slightly plump, and growing pinker by the moment as the breeze ruffled his blond curls.

“I set you up for that one, darling,” Aziraphale said. 

There was nothing but joy in his tone and he wiggled happily, sitting down in one of the reclining beach chairs that he had brought and Crowley had dragged across the sand to their chosen spot. 

Crowley shrugged and sat down directly on the towel, stretching himself languidly across the whole of it. 

“You’ll burn, dear.”

“Burning I’m used to, angel.”

The words slipped from Crowley’s mouth with an acerbic edge before he could stop them. 

“Oh, _Crowley_.”

The demon sighed.

“It’s fine angel just—“ 

Crowley waved his hands in the air loosely.

“—force of habit.”

“Really, dear, if there’s anything I can—“

“—s’fine angel, really, just a bad joke.”

“You shall let me know if there’s ever any time where you want to talk about it and how I can help.”

“You already do just by—“

Crowley waved his hands through the air again, gesturing at Aziraphale who had sat up in his reclining chair and was looking at Crowley with a concerned expression on his face. 

“—being you,” Crowley finished lamely. 

Unconvinced by Crowley’s words, Aziraphale continued to look at him. An old thought forced its way to the forefront of Crowley’s mind. 

He hadn’t tried to say “I love you” to Aziraphale since that one time, at least a millennia ago. It seemed simultaneously in an ancient past and also like it had happened yesterday. Crowley scratched idly at his throat, remembering how it had closed immediately and he had choked on his words. 

“Angel, I—“

His throat shut instantly and Crowley began to gag and choke. Unlike the first time Crowley had made the attempt, Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to reach for him, placing a warm hand on Crowley’s back directly between the demon’s shoulderblades, in the centre of where his wings would be were they manifest. 

Crowley waved him off. 

“S’nothing,” he choked out. “Nothing at all. Just swallowed a fly.”

“Swallowed a fly? Crowley really!”

Aziraphale admonished him, but his voice was anxious and concerned. 

“It’s nothing you— Nothing to be concerned about,” Crowley said between coughs. He leaned into the angel’s touch as Aziraphale rubbed circles into his back. 

***

Days later, as the two strolled through St. James’s Park, Crowley realized that what he had come quite close to saying to Aziraphale was, “It’s nothing you don’t already know.”

And really, it wasn’t. He spent more time at Aziraphale’s bookshop than he did his own flat now. While they had always been together in a nebulous sense — at least from Crowley’s own perspective, as two beings tasked with overseeing humanity for their respective and diametrically-opposed sides — they were more properly together now that those sides were no longer monitoring them. 

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s eyes light up as he chatted animatedly about one thing or another. It was times like these that Crowley valued most, watching the spark in Aziraphale’s eye as he talked about something he loved or sighed softly while taking a bite of food.

(The latter had a completely different trouser-tightening effect of which Crowley was also remarkably fond.)

The point was, Crowley told himself as he continued to gaze at Aziraphale with a disgustingly affectionate expression that he certainly would have made fun of had it appeared on the face of a random human passing by, that Aziraphale knew. 

In turn, Crowley also knew that Aziraphale loved him. The angel had never said it, but he’d never had to, showing it in myriad other ways even before the birth of the Antichrist. 

“Oi!”

Caught off-guard by the sudden interruption, Aziraphale stumbled slightly. 

“Really Crowley, if you want to get my attention there are better ways to do so.”

The angel said this primly, his upturned nose wrinkled in a disapproving sniff. 

“Never mind that, angel.” 

Crowley waved him off before continuing. Aziraphale sniffed again, smoothing out the wrinkles in his waistcoat out of habit. 

“Well, it’s rather rude dear.”

“The Bastille, that was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale froze mid-grooming, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides. He cast his eyes down with a guilty expression and flushed a vivid red.

Crowley laughed.

“You were considering lying just there weren’t you, angel?”

“Well really, Crowley, there’s no reason to bring that up now, a thing like that. It was years ago and the Arrangement—“

“The Arrangement was meant for performing each others’ miracles, not for getting one’s self all trussed up to have their head lopped off!”

Crowley was beaming as he said this, with an expression of glee that bordered on maniacal behind dark lenses. 

“You showed up, did you not?”

Aziraphale said this in a small voice, looking up at Crowley through long eyelashes. 

Crowley reached forward and took the angel’s hand. 

For years, Crowley had danced around Aziraphale, thinking that all they would ever have were stolen moments under false pretenses — meetings where they could still convince Heaven and Hell that they were, in fact, performing their duties more than adequately. 

Crowley never thought he would have this — the ability to take Aziraphale in hand in broad daylight, to return to the bookshop and press his body against Aziraphale’s soft curves or simply bask in his presence. 

He suddenly felt overcome by the weight of it all. 

“I did,” he finally said after a long pause, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand in his. “You knew that I would show up. Always.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

“I did,” Aziraphale said. 

“I l—“

Crowley’s voice broke at the start of saying “love.” Coughs wracked his body and he clenched his fists in frustration. 

“Fuck!” 

It was a loud shout that caused several people in the vicinity to glare. Aziraphale chided him with a “tut-tut” sound, clicking his tongue while patting Crowley’s shoulder. 

“It’s alright, dearest,” Aziraphale said softly. His voice was impossibly doting, with a deeper, steely undercurrent of absolute certainty.”

I do already know. I love you too.”

***

Awareness and acceptance are two very different things.

Crowley had been aware that Aziraphale had loved him all these years, but hadn’t allowed himself acceptance. It hadn’t helped that every time he’d pushed too quickly, Aziraphale had turned him down in fear of retribution from either side and while Crowley was also aware of why Aziraphale had done this, it hadn’t stopped every instance from hurting him deeply. 

On his darker days, he could still hear Aziraphale’s voice ringing in his head, telling him things like “You go too fast for me, Crowley” or “I don’t even like you!”

These personal fears were a large part of why Crowley wanted Aziraphale to know, beyond any doubts, that he loved the angel more than anything. And although Crowley was anything but verbally direct with his feelings — choosing to showcase any positive emotions towards Aziraphale or humanity through actions — he wanted to say the words. 

Aziraphale deserved at least that, and so much more. 

“M’sorry,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s skin one evening as the two were sprawled out, tangled together on a recently-miracled bed that had appeared in the flat above the bookshop not too long after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. 

Flushed and breathless, Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, confusion in his eyes. 

“Dearest, whatever for?”

“Y’know.”

Crowley defaulted to his habit of gesturing madly with his hands rather than saying what he meant to say. Aziraphale waited patiently, smiling. 

“I can’t say it,” Crowley finally admitted. “Physically can’t. They took that away from me and—“

He sighed. Aziraphale had long-removed the dark lenses that Crowley favoured, leaving his eyes and emotions exposed. 

“They took it away from you too. You deserve to hear it.”

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale burst out laughing. 

“Ah yes, this is so hilarious, angel.” Crowley’s usual acerbic bitterness returned, with a hint of hurt that made Aziraphale reach forward, drawing the demon closer to him. 

“Forgive me, love.” 

Aziraphale held one of Crowley’s hands, raking the backs of his manicured fingernails across Crowley’s back. Crowley shuddered leaning into Aziraphale despite his pouting.

“I didn’t realize you thought that I didn’t hear it.”

Moving his fingers up into Crowley’s hair and then down his neck, Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face, forcing the demon to look at him. 

“Crowley, I hear you say it all the time. What do you think this is all for?”

Aziraphale looked down with a rather unangelic smirk at their naked bodies before gazing up at a nearby shelf. Crowley followed his eyes to a row of thriving houseplants next to a stack of Aziraphale’s favourite nighttime reads. 

“You’ve been saying it for years, love.”

***

In the years to come this meant an increasing amount of plants in the bookshop. It meant jetting off to undisclosed locales under the guise of boredom and wanting to perform demonic temptations, only to show up with a previously undiscovered first edition of something Aziraphale had been searching for to complete his collection. It meant tea from around the world. It meant moving out of London and purchasing a cottage in the South Downs.

It meant hands that once mapped out stars mapping out something infinitely more beautiful in Crowley’s eyes, and every time, Aziraphale whispering “I love you” in return.


End file.
